Hear Me?
by Dean'sNerdyAngel
Summary: Clint may not be able to hear next to nothing, but he is not useless. But he doesn't tell his team anyway. Deaf!Clint. A deaf fic written by a deaf author.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: ****So I hope you'll bear with me on this. I'm 65% deaf in both ears myself and I tried my best to put that what feels like in Clint's case. I've never tried that before. It's kinda weird to do. XD But I hope you like it. When I heard that Hawkeye was 80% deaf after an accident in the comics, I just about jumped out of my seat. Finally, a popular superhero with hearing loss. You just don't see that a lot. Of course I had to write a little something for it!  
**

If there is one thing that Clint Barton hates the most, its people looking down at him in pity like he was incapable of handling things like a normal human being. A liability. Weak. He was doing just fine working solo missions and the occasional one with Natasha Romanoff or another member of SHIELD that has the jurisdiction of working with Clint (he was never given rookies, and he was just fine with that). And only Natasha, and Director Fury, of course, knew about his hearing loss. He's had it for a while now, but it feels like forever rather than just a few odd months short of 6 years. A mission gone awry, an explosion that had left him staring at the blue sky as everything erupted around him. Bombs had gone from trembling sounds to muffled thumps and voices became mumbles. His partner, Jacob, was yelling in his face and he had absolutely no idea what the hell the guy had been saying and he passed out seconds later. He woke up in a SHIELD infirmary and he was bombarded with tests, assurances, and doctors calmly telling him that it was most likely not coming back any time soon. He was disabled.

The incident had rendered him nearly deaf, and that hadn't stopped him one bit in his work with SHIELD. Actually, it did him good. He had been great at his skill as a marksman, but his senses after the explosion? Just months after, he could notice a difference with his precision of what things come next and what each smell is and what something feels like. Every sense was heightened now, especially his eyesight, and that had been the only blessing he felt he had gotten from the curse. Sometimes, when targeting a shot and having a need for concentration, he turned off his hearing aids and was greeted with a familiar empty silence that surrounded his entire being and felt like it could swallow him up. It didn't, and aimed and fired and always hits the shot. He wasn't bragging. He was just that good.

He read lips like a pro now. He hardly even had to hear at all for him to understand people since he had unconsciously mastered this.

Natasha never mentioned anything. Fury hardly did. He liked it better that way.

And then the Avengers happened. Don't get him wrong, he wasn't angry that he was a superhero now. He just maybe should have realized he was signing off his personal information as well as his skillset in the paperwork. When the disaster with the Chitauri subsided, and he got the chance to meet the team officially, it had been a crushing blow.

They all seemed so _powerful. _

Thor was a god, for Christ's sakes, and Steve was a super solider. Tony was a genius and billionaire with an attitude, Natasha was…Natasha. And Bruce Banner aka the Hulk? He didn't even have to explain that one. None of them had a petty disability holding them down. He knew that wasn't fair. After all, they all had their own shitty things to deal with.

It didn't change the fact that Clint felt a little inferior to them. It was bad enough that he'd been mind controlled by Loki and had committed things he never wanted to ever speak of again. He didn't tell his team about his hearing loss. He had hacked into SHIELD's databases long ago and erased all information about his disability, so they'd have to get it from the source. Or Natasha. But she wouldn't ever betray Clint's trust like that.

"You're going to have to tell them eventually." Natasha remarked to him one day.

"I will." _Not until I have to._

2 months living with the Avengers in the Stark Tower (which was almost done with repairs) and cleaning up the "space whales and their fish" as Stark called them and Clint was sitting in a spaced area of the air vents. His hands were pressed against the metal and his eyes were closed. He could feel Thor talking and Steve punching the shit out of a sand punching bag in the lower gym. He could easily determine the difference, too. Thor's voice, deep and booming even to Clint, rumbled short and quick vibrations. If he tried hard enough, he could pick out a few words. Steve's punches rattled the bag tethered to the ceiling, fairly close to the vents. There was no sign of Bruce or Tony, but he could bet that they were in the big lab doing science-y things. Clint was smart, sure, but he was no genius. He didn't understand half of what Tony or Bruce was trying to say to him. Natasha was probably…wait, he could feel the bullets. Shooting range, then. He should spar with her later. He sighed in boredom and slumped against the duct.

Before, Clint could find something to do in every corner. He could spar with anyone on the helicarrier; he could visit agents he'd worked with in the past. He couldn't do that now because they all looked like he was going to kill them before they could blink. A lot of times, he wanted things to go back to the way they were. It was simpler. He didn't want to ever think of Loki taking control of him and watching helplessly through his own eyes and committed such destruction. Fucking mind control. Fucking Loki.

3 months after the assembling of the Avengers, there was another mission. Not an "end of the world" one this time. There was a dozen or so giant robots in Minneapolis city, tearing up buildings and scaring the living shit out of the citizens.

The helicopter landed right in the middle of the destruction, and he, Steve, and Natasha all ran out. Bruce lingered for just a moment before running out. He nodded to the captain, who nodded back, and took a deep breath. Then he wasn't Bruce Banner anymore.

Clint ran, quiver and bow ready, swiftly around cars and debris. He ran into a now evacuated office building and used the elevator to get to the near top. He perched himself on the ledge of the building through an open window. Repositioning his bow, he craned his neck as he examined the drone.

It was bulky, made especially to look menacing and impenetrable. But there's always a catch. His eyes scanned the back, and finally, he saw a faint glow in the hollow of the back of the neck. That'd knock out the transmitter. It would be out of control from whatever was commanding it, and the circuits would fry and, as Clint assumed, would go into "shock", giving Tony the chance to shoot it down from Iron Man suit.

He arched his bow, focused on the glow, and released his fingers. The explosive arrow zoomed straight into the transmitter and the robot trembled and shook for a second, its massive legs faltering for a second. In the pause, Tony used his repulsors to take it down.

One down, 8 to go.

"_Barton! Hate to ruffle your nest, but we need you down here. The energy beams are jamming the signal, and we need to stay in contact." _Steve ordered from the comm. Clint's eyes narrowed. He hated being on the ground in situations like these. It was too exposing. But, as Fury had so kindly explained to him, he had to follow the captain's orders. Muttering a curse under his breath, he made his way back down again.

When he reached the street, the captain and Natasha were both fending off mini-robots that were scurrying around the cars and lampposts, and Hawkeye shot at 3 of them without a moment's hesitation. Then another 5. 3 more giant robots, courtesy of Iron Man and the Hulk, went down.

Then one of the robots led out a mechanical roar, and Clint's comms that were connected to his hearing aids went static. There were shouts on the other end, but he couldn't make out any sense. Then an electric blast was swarming around him, not harming him, but his panic flared when his aids sparked, sputtered, and went dead. Swearing loudly, or so he _assumed _because it was quiet now and there was an annoying whooshing noise. He yanked them from his ears and examined them. They were fried. "Shit!"

He was still fumbling with them, and his comm had shorted out long ago, so he couldn't tell Natasha that he- _SLAM! _

A tremendous force plummeted him to the pavement and his head connected painfully with the pavement. He might have blacked out. He wasn't exactly sure. In his dazed state, though, instinct kicked in and he froze; arms tight against his throbbing side and legs prepared to kick out if anyone tried to intercept him.

"Clint!" He knew it was his name, and that it was Natasha. After a couple of years you learned voices by heart even if you couldn't hear it very well. He lifted his head and her face filled his vision. She seemed to realize that something was wrong with Clint's hearing, because she used sign language to ask if he was all right.

"Aids are dead," he murmured. She frowned, then gently slid a hand under his back and helped him stand. His side _hurt _like a_ bitch. _At least a few cracked ribs, then. He'd broken enough to know what it felt like. He glanced around, shifted, and winced as he looked down. His arm had a damn good road rash on it. The Captain was finishing off the last few mini robots. Visibly, there was only one big robot left and the Hulk was finishing it off.

Tony landed in his suit near the two, and pulled up his face plate. He wasn't happy. Clint's ears were barely catching any sound at all, less than usual what with his head fucking _swimming, _but he could hear the roar of the Hulk. Tony's lips were moving now.

"Rogers was…to move…why didn't…move?" That's all Clint could make out. He felt too light headed to concentrate. But his mind pieced together what happened. A totaled car lay in ruins a few feet away. He recalled Hulk tossing the cars to…oh. One of the cars had hit him. He could have easily moved and it wouldn't have been a problem if he'd been paying attention or been able to hear the yelling of his teammates.

He looked desperately at Natasha, and she gave a small shake of her head. And he knew that he wasn't getting out of this one.

**A/N: I want to write an extra chapter on Clint explaining to the Avengers of his hearing loss, but let me know if I should just keep where it is or write more. Thanks for reading. And if you saw any areas I could improve on, please tell me. I love writing with a fiery passion and being 14 years old and trying to be as professional as I can without overdoing it is difficult. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: The feedback was amazing, guys! I loved your reviews, favorites, follows, everything. So I continued, and will continue. This is the final chapter of part 1, and the next chapter will begin with part 2 (see bottom for details). Hope you like this chapter. I tried my best. Some of the reviews suggested a beta reader. I did better this time with proofreading, but does anyone know of a good beta and be willing to be my beta? Self-recs are fine too. PM me if interested :D**

**Special thanks to my lovely "wife" Freya for giving me ideas for this chapter, because for the life of me I couldn't figure out good ways to have Clint explain everything to his team. Which is ironic, because I've had my own hearing loss for years and had tell probably nearing hundreds of people. Also thanks to her for reminding me what things sound like. "What does a plane sound like anyway?" "A clucking chicken, of course. What else?"  
**

The trip back to the Tower was silent and awkward. With no replacements of hearing aids with him, Clint looked down at his hands and hoped no one tried to talk to him. Natasha was helping with that, he noticed, by glaring daggers at any of the team who dared to even _look _like they were going to open their mouth.

Stark had muttered something about having to go back to the Tower with his suit for immediate repairs, so the five of them were in the quinjet. Clint prayed it wasn't just his bad hearing not picking anything up and no one was actually talking. A few quick glances up confirmed that no, everyone was off in their own little world. Or wondering about him, and how strange he'd been acting.

He had to tell them.

He knew that, and Tasha will probably make him if he decided to chicken out anyway. The hard part was trying to think of how he was going to explain it to them without seeming like an invalid. He'd had to tell people about his hearing loss before, sure, but it felt different. This time, he was supposed to be strong in their eyes, because they were getting dangerously close to being his _friends. _And having friends that care about him great and all, but what happens when those friends put him on the sidelines out of their worry for him? _Oh, your hearing aids are busted? That's okay. Go sit in the car, buddy, we'll meet you there after it's all over._

Rationally, that wasn't likely. Natasha had never doubted his ability to complete a mission even if his hearing was compromised, and surely she'd back him up, right? And Fury wouldn't have put him on the Avengers if he didn't think he could handle it. If he got them to _get _it, to understand that it's not as bad as it seems, then they wouldn't question it either. Right?

* * *

When the jet landed, Clint nearly sprinted from his seat, out of the jet and to his room on the 107th floor. He didn't look back.

His room was cluttered, as usual, with clothes thrown about and cups and even an empty pizza box on top of the large dresser. The queen bed was half-heartedly made, and there was a target on his wall that was sideways and covered in holes from spitballs. It was beginning to feel like home now, compared to the alien feeling when he first walked into the room. The room had been generously designed by Tony himself, and Clint had to admit the guy did a pretty decent job in putting in everyone's preferences without even asking them outright what they wanted.

His favorite part, though, was the closet. A walk in closet that had the usual assortment of clothing had a staircase leading up to a loft up above. It had a couch that he ended up sleeping on most of the time, a widescreen TV that probably cost more than his bow, and large windows that gave him a brilliant view of New York City.

Climbing up the stairs, he pushed a button near the couch and a see-through passcode screen appeared. He punched in his code and part of the wall disappeared to reveal a glass case. He assembled his bow, quiver, and arrows into the slots and took out a worn gray box that Clint has been telling himself he'll replace before it falls apart completely. In it was two extra pairs of hearing aids, because you can never be too careful. He put the fried ones from his pocket into the box and wondered, after he told everyone, if he should ask Tony to try to fix them. From the upgrades Tony has done on his bow and arrows, the genius could do wonders with them. He took out the new pair and inserted them into his ears, the skin colored mold feeling cold but strangely familiar, and switched it on. He breathed a sigh of relief as they beeped and sounds of the air ventilation system and the thudding of feet distantly greeted him.

Clint closed the box, and wall case, and it turned back into a smooth white wall. He plopped down on the couch and loved the feeling of the soft cushions. He was tempted to just stay in his room for the rest of the day, maybe the week, and ask JARVIS to lock everyone out.

Then again, Natasha would probably break in and drag him out by the ear. She was probably getting fed up with his continuous disregard for telling his team about his disability.

"Clint, can I come in?" Natasha asked through the intercom. Speak of the devil.

"Clint's busy." He muttered, but climbed down from his loft and opened the door. "Yeah?"

"The team is in the common room waiting for you." She crossed her arms and looked at him sternly.

"Now?" he groaned. "Tasha…"

"Don't give me that. Get your feathery ass down there."

He sighed heavily and followed her to the elevator. There wasn't any point in arguing.

In the elevator, Natasha was leaning against the wall and staring at him, lips pursed. "Do you know what you're going to say?"

"No." Clint snorted. "I honestly have no idea what to say."

"Tell them what you told me. You remember that, don't you? You had just gotten it."

"…Tasha, I was drugged up on painkillers. I think I told you I wished I was a bird."

"Well, a _version _of what you said then. Come on, Clint, you know better than I do your strengths and weaknesses," Natasha insisted. At Clint's raised eyebrow she added, "Okay, slightly more."

Clint mumbled a curse and looked away, his hands unconsciously clenched tightly at his sides. His stomach churned in uneasiness. He hated being the center of attention. He hated looks of pity. _God, _he hated pity_._ But before the elevator door slid open, Natasha grabbed his fist, uncurled it, and squeezed it. When he looked at her, she wasn't looking at him, but her lips curved into a small, reassuring smile.

And then the moment was over, and she was pushing him out the door.

* * *

Everyone was out of their uniforms. Bruce was sitting in the recliner chair with a book in his lap, but it was closed and booked marked. Tony and Steve were next to each other on the couch, and Thor was sitting on the ground. Tony probably wanted him to stay off the couch until he could replace it with sturdier stuff, because Thor just accidentally breaks things and no one gets mad, if you don't include Tony's over dramatic despair.

They all looked up at him expectantly.

His mouth felt dry suddenly. Was he really this socially awkward? He cleared his throat. "Uh, well. You're probably wondering what happened in Minneapolis."

Only Tony nodded, eyebrows rising in a prompting to go on.

"I'm kind of deaf," he rushed out, and winced. "I have moderate-severe hearing loss in both of my ears. I was too close to an explosion 6 years ago, and they said I wouldn't get it back."

"Is that all?" Tony grinned, but it wasn't a sneer. Just friendly. "Here I thought you were going to tell us you were dying of cancer."

"You didn't have to be ashamed of telling us, Clint," Steve said softly, standing up his seat. Clint shifted uncomfortably, shrugging.

"So, anyway. The energy blast fried my hearing aids. That's why I couldn't hear Steve yelling that the Hulk was behind me, and-"

"You got in the way of his throwing cars," Bruce finished. "Sorry about that."

"It's okay. Really, it is. I'm not mad at you or the big guy."

"I believe that all great warriors have their everlasting scars of battle, friend Barton. It is something you should be proud of. Others will look at you with honor." Thor told him, smiling so broadly Clint had to smile back.

"Yeah, listen to Thor. I mean, I've got this," Tony tapped the glowing blue circle in the middle of his chest, "and it sucks, but it's got benefits. Just like your disability has."

Clint was about to explain what exactly that meant, but Bruce beat him to it. "Your senses are enhanced, aren't they? Which takes your skill as an archer to a whole new level."

"Not to mention the ability to tune Tony out when he's talking too much." Steve added.

Tony glowered at the supersolider before smirking. "Steve doesn't have the privilege."

"What _is _a hearing aid, exactly?" Thor asked, frowning. "I understand that it is a device of Midgard that provides support to one's lack of hearing, but how does it work?"

Clint saw that Tony was about to jump into a technical discussion that only he and Bruce could understand, so he hushed the billionaire. "It acts like an amplifier. It captures sounds and makes them louder for me."

"Well, sounds like you've got a hold on it." Steve nodded to him, and Clint felt a weight lift on his shoulders. "But next time, tell us right away if something goes wrong with those aids. I've already had this discussion with Stark and his arc reactor."

"Except, you know, I die if the arc reactor goes off." Tony cut in. "Barton, you have to let me try to build you a hearing aid. It'll be great."

"Knock yourself out," Clint smirked. "But you have to test it yourself first. I don't want it blowing up in my ear. Wouldn't want to become deaf or anything."

"Har har, you're hilarious." Tony mocked, and thumped him on the shoulder. "I'm liking you more and more."

After that, it was like the interest had drifted. Tony got a hold of a tablet and began murmuring things to himself, and Steve watched in morbid fascination for just a few moments before turning instead to his drawing notebook. Bruce opened his book and began to read, and Thor turned on the TV and switched endlessly through different channels. Clint blinked; that was it? No accusations, no retribution? Slowly, he turned, and began to walk out of the room.

Natasha, who had been silent the whole time, followed him out and into the hallway. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Awful. Just awful," he sighed dramatically, putting a hand to his forehead. "The amount of will I had put into that was excruciating."

Natasha chuckled. "You seem happier already."

"Yeah. Ever since I came here I felt nervous that they'd find out the wrong way. I guess I was worried that they'd…you know."

"I know." And she leaned forward, kissed his cheek, and murmured into his ear. "I'm only human, too, Clint. Remember that."

He will.

* * *

Later that day, when the sun was beginning to disappear behind the skyscrapers and the sky was a mixture of pink and blue and orange, Clint went up on the roof sat on the ledge. He could only feel the wind gently brushing back his hair and the cool child of night creeping on his skin. His aids were out, and everything was silent.

He really didn't mind it all that much.

**END OF PART 1.**

**A/N 2: Part 1 focused on what it felt like having hearing loss and the benefits it can have that outweigh the bad things. Part 2 will be about the disadvantages, and the fear and uncertainty that comes with it. Anyone want to see this become Clint/Natasha? **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: OH, LOOK! I actually made another part for this series. Your response has been amazing, really. The reviews, follow/favorites inspire me to keep writing. I apologize for the long wait. I didn't feel up to writing this past month, just too busy and I definitely didn't want to write about hearing loss. Just one of those times where having hearing loss pisses me off to no end. I had my hearing tested a bit before the holidays and it dropped slightly again in my right ear. Clint in this fic is lucky in some terms, because his hearing loss is fairly constant more or less. It won't go down, but there's a possibility it might go up. Mine's the opposite. On another side note, I have 3(?) parts to add to the fic. Or I might write a seperate, longer, all-together fic about Clint and Natasha's relationship (I made it an official pairing on this due to popular request and I really do want to try a Clintasha fic) and how either Clint's hearing begins to go up or down, I haven't decided. But probably down, because I have a lot of experience in that and how it's kind of scary and such. OK, RANT OVER.**

Thank you so much, constancebonacieux, for being being a beta for the series!

Clint didn't like small spaces. Especially very _low _small spaces. Like the basement of Stark Tower, which was similar to a war bunker. So why he had agreed to accompany Tony to help him settle his _robots _into his holding area was beyond him. The holding area, as of now, held two suits under incredible security and while normally Butterfingers and You would be upstairs in the lab with Tony, both programs were used in making quick adjustments to the security of the suits. Dum-E (Dummy) would stay in the lab, which Clint was grateful for because that robot is the only one that didn't use its prongs to pick at his pants or knock over his drink. _"They're not good with new people," _Tony had remarked, an annoying smirk on his face. Clint had only replied with a scowl.

"Hey, You, Butterfingers, keep up!" Tony called to the two that rolled behind them down the long, dimly lit hallway. "You're being slow. I know you don't want to leave the lab, but you know how it is."

"What, do they feel homesick already?" Clint asked skeptically. Tony's creations were advanced, yes, but he's pretty sure that his AI's didn't have "feelings".

"Nah, they're just wondering where Dummy is. They're spoiled brats, too. He's been around the longest, and they get fidgety in their coding when they're not all together."

"Robotic separation issues," Clint chuckled, mostly to himself. "Who knew?"

Tony smiled, pleased that at least someone appreciated his creations. If Clint kept this up, Tony might end up building Clint his own AI that would no doubt follow him around like the current ones did Tony. He had mixed feelings about that. From the whining chortles that the robots gave when Tony was gone for more than 20 minutes, they wouldn't do well when Clint was on a mission. Knowing Tony, he'd try to make it the worst experience first, laugh about it, and then fix it with smugness.

"Here we are." They stopped in front a huge bulk of a door with a code panel, and Tony entered in the code such quickness Clint couldn't memorize it even if he bothered to try. The door slid open, and the AI's chirped and pushed them both aside to enter. "Oh, _now _you guys are excited! Well, don't just stand there, Barton, get in here."

Clint shook his head in exasperation, blinking against the sudden glare of light. Once his eyesight adjusted, he examined the room. It wasn't as impressive as Tony and Bruce's labs, being exactly as it was: a storage space for important property. Suits were lined up in glass chambers, and in the middle it looked like it opened up for the multiple mechanical arms that helped assemble the armor. Each upgraded suit was more automatic, but these were older suits that worked just as well if need be.

It was clear to Clint that Tony was paranoid of someone stealing his tech and using it for bad intentions. He knew why, he read Tony's file and how the former president of SI, Obadiah Stane, had been dealing under the table and sent Stark Industries weapons to terrorists. In fact, Clint had been with Fury as they monitored Stark's activities after his return from Afghanistan, and Coulson had told him briefly what happened with the case before it died down until reports of Tony dying from palladium poisoning had reached SHIELD. At that time, Clint couldn't have cared less. Stark had been just a genius, a valuable but expendable ally that really didn't want to cooperate at all.

If Tony had been dying now, Clint would make sure he didn't with all his power. Of all the Avengers minus Natasha, Tony was probably the one he liked the most…in a way. He was an asshole, but Clint could be too. And he didn't look at him any different when he had told the team about his hearing loss. In fact, he seemed to be in a lighter mood around him. He supposed it was because he had something to compare to Clint: having something that can affect you in a bad way but still making good out of it. In Tony's case, it was the arc reactor.

"Not much, is it?" Tony mused, snapping Clint out of his thoughts. "I haven't been down here that much. This is just one floor from the arc reactor that powers the building, so if something were to explode down here it could…make that blow up. Which would be a very big explosion, and I just fixed this building. So no touchy, yeah?"

"I like my room, so I'll heed your warning." Clint retorted. "Ow! Hey!"

Tony snickered as Butterfinger twirled his three-fingered "arm" in amusement from running over Clint's foot. "He likes you."

"Yeah, well, I don't like him." Clint grumbled, shooing away the AI. "Can we get out of here? Natasha brought some of the best movies I loved and they have subtitles. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get classic movies in subtitles these days?"

"Near impossible, if it-"

"Sir, if I may, there's been a breach in our firewall of the Tower databases." Jarvis suddenly announced, cutting Tony off. Clint's eyes snapped to Tony, confused. A security breach? _Tony's_ security? That was unlikely.

"What the fuck? Pinpoint it and get rid of it, J!" Tony's face went dead serious, his lips into a thin line. "SR2-59047 Protocol, but do not engage. Burn and track."

"My severs are now threatened of being neutralized, sir. How would you like me to proceed?" Jarvis asked, and before Tony could answer, the bodiless AI continued, "Emergency lockdown initiated."

"No, J!" Tony growled, and glanced to where the heavy metal door was beginning to slide close. "Clint, we have to get out of the basement before the lockdown is finished. I don't know how long we'll be down here."

Clint didn't need Tony to say it again. He made sure Tony stayed ahead of him as they ran to the exit, because…well, it was an instinct. Civilians need to be protected. There was just a foot left of space, and they were two feet away.

One foot…

¾…

½…

They were going to make it, barely. Right as they slipped into the hallway, the lights blinked out. It was pitch black. There wasn't any light. Or anywhere to escape. Clint's heart rate accelerated a little. "Tony!"

"Clint?" The muffled sounding response made Clint's stomach twist. Was he _alone? _Had he saw wrong and Tony was still on his side?

"Tony, where…where are you?" Clint asked, trying to keep the edge from his voice.

"Um, I think...hang on…"

Clint flinched violently as a hand touched his bicep, his arms jutted out in defense, and there was the sickening feeling of a nose breaking under his fist.

"Owww!" Tony's pained moan echoed, and Clint mentally kicked himself. Tony had been next to him, not in the other room. "What the hell, bird brain? I liked how my nose looked!"

"Shit, Tony! Are you all right?" he asked, gripping Tony's shoulder to keep him steady. "Hold still."

"Goddammit. Jarvis better get the power up soon, or I think I'm going to bleed to death." Tony grumbled, and Clint strained to capture every word. Fuck. The dark was one of those things on the list of Clint's hate list. And with the mutters and almost unintelligible words that Tony kept saying, Tony was about to be at the top of the list. He couldn't read lips in the dark, and nothing was ever what it seemed. Advanced as his hearing aids were, they had no sense of direction or closeness. Things that were close sounded far away, right was left, left was right, that sort of thing. Hesitantly, he reached up from Tony's shoulder to his chin, and then grimaced he felt warm, sticky liquid.

"Sorry, Clint, I don't swing that way." The billionaire snapped, swatting his hand away.

"Shut up, Tony. And lean your head back. I'd say pinch your nose, but…"

"Not happening. Hurts like a bitch to touch."

Was it just him, or did the air feel thicker? "We're not going to run out of oxygen or anything, are we?"

"Not for 8 hours at least. So you don't have an excuse to kill me in here when I get on your nerves." Tony's voice sounded strange from his nose being plugged. So, that meant Clint was just freaking out. That was good and bad, he supposed. His fingers twitched anxiously and his eyes darted in all directions, looking for a sight, an object in the dark that he could focus on.

is

"And how long are we going to be stuck down here?"

"I don't know. Not long, I would imagine. Jarvis has to cool down and make sure there's no one trying to get in. If there's a stupid bastard trying to hack me, you can bet he'll be shot down pretty fast." The calmness in Tony's voice pissed Clint off.

"Can you make it soon?" he demanded.

"I'd _like_ to, but I can't. Do you see any computers in here? Anything I can possibly use to unlock the Tower?" Tony shot back. "What the hell is your problem?"

"I don't like the dark."

"Are you shitting me right now? You're scared of the _dark?" _Tony's voice was incredulous, and Clint could imagine the smirk curling on his lips.

"I'm not scared, Tony. I just hate it." Clint wanted very much to punch Tony in the face again, and this time on purpose. Couldn't he just let it go?

"Yeah, _sure. _Want to tell me why?"

"No."

"Tell dear Tony what's on your mind, birdy." Tony sing-songed.

"How about we sit and wait _quietly_?"

"Isn't everything _quiet_ to you?" Tony snarked, then paused, "Wait, wait, I get it. You can't read my lips."

Clint didn't answer, and that answered Tony's question pretty much.

"Alright, hey. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's pretty stupid, I know that."

There was a long, drawn out silence that seemed like it lasted an eternity in the darkness. Clint could imagine Tony thinking of the time estimates of when they could get out of here, of-

"I don't like caves." Tony said abruptly, a little louder and clearer, probably for Clint's benefit. "Not scared of them, but I get a little fidgety. You know what I mean?"

"Yes," Clint answered, and he meant it. He knew Tony was aware that he knew why, too. Clint's been through a lot, most of it bloody and awful and nothing he would ever like to think about again, but he was trained to deal with it. He knew how to push it back and to know what his mission was if he was in a kind of position where there was torture and captivity. Tony, on the other hand, had been a civilian during Afghanistan, a man of genius but still a person who had gotten in over his head.

"Holy shit! Why didn't I think of this before?" Tony exclaimed, and then Clint heard the ripping of fabric.

"Uh, Tony…"

"Hallelujah!" Brilliant blue light erupted from the arc reactor in Tony's chest. Clint blanched as he noticed the blood that was now smeared all around Tony's lower face, the cocky grin making it look a bit eerie with the pale light. It's the first time Clint has seen the arc reactor from beneath his shirt. "Don't gawk at me."

"I'm not." Clint blinked furiously against the fuzziness in his vision, and realized that it was closer quarters than he realized. The hallway was narrow and long, made up of a concrete floor and wall. "Where's the door?"

"I think it's that way." Tony frowned. With the shining blue illumination, he could see and hear everything Tony was saying without being completely paranoid. "But it doesn't really matter now, does it?"

"No," Clint agreed. His stomach was still doing flips, but he shrugged it down. Clint eased himself down to the ground and leaned his head back against the wall, and the two were silent for what felt like a long time.

Tony shifted on his feet, glancing down at his arc reactor. "You are damn lucky I like you, you know that? I hate showing off this thing. You better make sure Fury gives me a fucking medal."

"No medals. You only get a lecture, and maybe a nice pat on the back and maybe, if you're just as annoying as you usually are, he'll give you some _paperwork!_" Clint teased in an overly cheerful voice.

"Well I am not helping you anytime soon again, that's for sure."

Clint would have replied with another sarcastic comment, maybe a few insults if it felt necessary, anything to distract himself, right? But Tony suddenly froze in place, brows furrowing.

"Did you hear that?"

"Don't ask me that, you make me nervous." Clint said tersely. Clint placed a hand on the concrete, keeping a steady gaze on Tony, on the light, but he listened. In his own adapted way. There was nothing at first, although Tony kept roaming his eyes over the ceiling, insisting there was something. "Do you think someone broke in?"

Tony opened his mouth to obviously scold him of how ridiculous that was, that it wasn't possible. But then there was a _CLANG _that even Clint could hear. "Where's that coming from, Tony?"

"Up above. Either someone is pulling a really stupid move, or the others are tearing apart the place to get our sorry asses out of here." Tony grumbled.

Clint kept a hand on the wall, and then felt a rumble within. Then a massive one, that shook all around them and almost made Clint lose his footing, and Tony tumbled to the ground. Then all the noises stopped. The vibrations, sounds, everything. The silence droned into the room.

Until, of course, the sickening creaking and rumbling began again. Tony gripped his arm. "Holy shit, the floors are collapsing. That was an explosion, and the floors are starting to collapse!"

True to Tony's word, the cement ceiling cracked, groaned, and they ducked their heads as a chunk of debris came down around them, small chucks following and even pipes. Tony and Clint looked at each other, faces grim, and Clint could see slight panic in Tony's eyes that he tried desperately to hide. "Cover your head!" Clint yelled, and it was then that the whole thing decided to cave in.

Clint dropped to the floor automatically, and only had time to roll over onto his stomach and cover his head, seeing Tony do the same a few feet away, as the rest of the ceiling came crashing down. Then the darkness came again.

**A/N: Next update will be a lot faster than last time! **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Wow, okay. First of all, the response to this story? The very well undeserved response because my updates are horrible? Flattering, humbling, all words related to those. I started writing this not expecting much, and you've proven me wrong. Your words of support, everything, make me glow a little brighter. So thank you, and have the last bit of part 2 of this fic. Part 3 is already written and awaiting posting. This is the 3****rd**** time I've written this chapter, due to computer troubles. I was ready to Hulk smash by the second time. Finally, I crawled my way to my computer chair and wrote it **_**again. **_**Worth it. Tacos ensued. **

**Please note: I don't refer to my hearing aids as "hearing aids" _all _the time in real life, as it gets a bit annoying, so I use "H.A." as an abbreviation. You'll see that briefly in this chapter. THANK YOU, CONSTANCE (ALYSSA!) FOR BEING BETA I LOVE YOU. **

There was a lot Clint couldn't understand right now. Like why someone was slapping his face and _what the fuck, ow, _and why his leg was hurting something awful and there was a hard pressure on his shoulder. His brain refused to click, didn't comprehend why there was shouting and the taste and smell of metal and dust in the air. Something was off.

He was submerged in a lot of darkness, this time in the safety of his own closed eyes and not the weighting darkness of things around him and sounds he could barely hear and not see. That was what different, there was no light of Tony's arc reactor. Where was Tony? He'd be talking. Of course he would be.

Maybe he'd fallen asleep, was dreaming all this. They were in the basement, waiting for someone to get to them- _Hey, what in the living hell was that horrible noise_? He thought. It sounded like a screeching, high pitched and meeting his ears in a vengeance. That was the sound his hearing aids made when they were out of place, so he lifted one hand that felt way too heavy to fiddle with his HA's, but something held his hand; it was soft and cold and _is that Natasha? _

"_Clint!" _One voice registered completely, and since it _was _Natasha and she sounded distressed, his eyes snapped open. Not much would come into focus, but he saw Natasha's red hair and pale face that was streaked with dirt. That wasn't right. He'd always found Natasha's "battle look" very sexy, as mentioned to her and replied with a glare, but they weren't in a battle, he was just stuck in a suffocating dark basement with Tony Stark. The pressure on his shoulder turned into the feeling of a hand gripping it, securing him.

"Hey," and he sounded like he swallowed a mouthful of sand. He grimaced and tried to shy away as something, his HA, slipped back into the shape of his ear and the disrupting screeching feed stopped. He realized that Natasha used that sound as a weapon to wake him up. Rude. Smart, but not okay because he hated that sound. "Wha's goin' on?"

"Someone bombed the bottom half of the Tower." Natasha said darkly, her facial features becoming clearer.

"What?!" he exclaimed, attempting to sit up, but _that _was a mistake, because everything hurt. He was lying in Natasha's lap, so maybe he'd just stay still for now because it was pretty comfy. That wasn't right, they-

_The rumbling, the shaking, Tony yelling and falling, and the ceiling collapsing, arc reactor light gone, gone, leaving the darkness behind… _"Tony. Where's Tony?"

"He's fine. He's already being prepped to get into the ambulance." She assured him, and Clint risked rolling his eyes back and forth, seeing that he was in the middle of the street in front of the Tower, the Tower that was smoking and he saw fires poking out of the bottom half, being subdued by hoses of firefighters. "Everyone is out and we're waiting for more backup. Now, you have to stay awake until a paramedic says it's okay for you to sleep, got it?"

"Mmm," he blinked, saw that there were people behind police-issued yellow tape, all moving in panicky ways, shouting, demanding answers. It was too crowded, and, yes, too loud. He wanted silence right now. He doubted Natasha would let him take out his hearing aids. "No thanks."

"Don't you dare, Barton. Stay awake. I don't know if you have a concussion." Natasha's voice was firm, and her holds on his shoulder and hand tightened.

"Give me a kiss and I'll never sleep," he slurred, and where did _that _come from?

"I'll have tacos for you when you wake up after they check you over," Natasha told him, as if he said nothing. Wonderful, wonderful Natasha who didn't listen to him drunk or half-conscious or otherwise. He wouldn't mind a kiss, though…

"Acceptable. Know what I like?"

"Of course. Paramedic is coming," Natasha said as she looked up to where he was too tired to follow. But the strength keeping him awake fell dramatically, leaving him and his pounding head lolling on Natasha, sound and vision fading out.

Natasha was talking to him, or was it yelling? Fuck it, he couldn't tell. She was shaking him and fuck her, not in the good way, because he wanted to sleep. His wish was granted as a paramedic leaned over him, poked and talked to him, and told him it was safe to sleep. Clint gratefully complied, and the last thing he felt was Natasha running her fingers through his hair.

* * *

When he woke up, there wasn't any noise. No shouting, no annoying screeching from his hearing aids. Actually, he didn't think his hearing aids were in at all, because he couldn't feel them.

There was no pain to feel, either. He opened his eyes and stared up at a white ceiling. The sterile smell and white everything screamed _hospital. _He blinked the fogginess out of his mind and rolled his head over.

And what do you know, Tony was sitting in a wheelchair no less, face cleanly shaven save a 5 o'clock shadow from a gash on his chin, nose looking swollen and supplied with butterfly bandage, dressed in a black Iron Man t-shirt and gray sweatpants. Munching on a taco.

There was no one else in the room, and he gritted his teeth because that meant there was no Natasha to give him his HA's. Where was she? She owed him his own taco.

He'd hoped Tony wouldn't notice him awake, but Tony looked up from his food to Clint, and nodded at him, not opening his mouth. Clint closed his eyes again and turned his head away, hoping he'd get the picture he couldn't talk.

Something was placed into the palm of his hand resting at his side and other fingers moved to close his hand. His hearing aids were there. He opened one eye and saw Tony looking between his hand and Clint expectantly.

Clint put his hearing aids in, then breathed relief as he often did when sound greeted him, and muttered a thanks to Tony.

"How are you feeling?" Tony asked, cocking his head.

"I'm fine. You look worse than I feel. So how are _you _feeling?"

Tony snorted. "You say that now because of the painkillers."

Clint's eyes roamed to the heavily bandaged bulge under the blankets where his leg should be. "Huh. That definitely looks like it should hurt."

"Some metal got stuck in there, so they did surgery to get it out. No broken bones, but it'll hurt like a bitch. You have some heavy bruising, too, but no less than me." He finished his taco and leaned back into the wheelchair.

"I'm shocked you're willingly sitting in that thing." Clint scoffed.

"I broke my ankle, and one rib and some other bruised ribs, so I'm either stuck in this or forced to sit in a hospital bed twiddling my thumbs. Pepper and I compromised." He scowled.

"Aw, Stark's listening to doctor's orders." He teased cheekily.

"Shut up. Your girl and my girl are a deadly match when they want something, okay?"

Clint thought about it, and agreed whole heartedly. Terrifying. "Wait- Natasha is _not _my girl."

Tony stared him down skeptically.

Clint decided this was the best time to change the subject before he said something he'd regret later. "Where is everyone? Tasha owes me tacos."

"Pepper forced everyone to take a two hour break for showers, food, and sleep. They've been waiting on our sorry asses to wake up. I woke up last night," Tony explained. Clint noticed then that the long couch was rumpled and a few blankets were tossed to the ground and cups of coffee were everywhere.

"…and the bombing was three days ago. My Tower is a mess, I'm a mess, and they shaved off my goatee. Today is not a great day for me."

Clint groaned. "What stupid ass decided to bomb Stark Tower?"

"Not a terrorist group, thank God." Something dark glinted in Tony's brown eyes, but it faded as quickly as it showed. "A.I.M. A weapons company. We don't get along, and I guess a rogue went too far. The CEO is denying everything, and they're too high up in too many places to get any concrete, but they're losing stock points. Badly."

"And no one else is hurt?"

"Minor cuts and bruises, you know. Luckily most of the team was on the higher levels. We were in the wrong place at the wrong time." Tony shrugged, and winced. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Don't worry about it." Clint held back any sarcastic remarks he had for Tony apologizing. Tony _must _have been on some painkillers messing with his brain. It was the only explanation. "Your bots are okay?"

"Why? Did you suck up to them already?" Tony smiled wryly. "Yeah. I'll fix whatever bumps they have when I sneak my way past here."

"And here is…? The helicarrier?"

"One and only." Tony sighed, and then rolled his wheelchair back, grabbing a bag off a small table. "Here, I'll do the honors of presenting you your tacos."

Clint snatched the bag and dug out the wrapped taco. He unwrapped it, saw everything he'd ever loved in a taco, and took a huge bite. _Sweet Jesus. Not worth missing a kiss from Natasha, but it'll do._

"Excuse me?" a voice asked, almost demanded, and Tony started laughing.

He just about spit out his food as it dawned on him. He'd said that _out loud, _and Natasha was leaning against the doorway with her arms crossed and her eyebrows raised. "Hi, Tasha." He grinned, trying to play around it.

Natasha did not return said grin. "You are in trouble."

Tony just kept laughing.

* * *

Later, after a freshly showered Steve rolled a protesting Tony back to his room so that he could rest, and the rest of the team said hello and covered all the details of the attack, it was just him and Natasha.

The room still smelled of tacos and it was almost nauseating. Clint's sense of smell was enhanced, of course, so this wasn't a surprise. But it kept tacos on his mind.

He should have guessed there was a reason the SHIELD doctors never let him eat in these rooms.

He shifted on the bed, waiting impatiently for Natasha to talk. No other position was comfortable, so he stuck with sitting up on the bed with his hands clasped in his lap. He wanted to at least turn on the goddamn television (that SHIELD didn't even bother to install with closed captioning, those little shits) to get rid of the uncomfortable silence. He was used to silence, but it was usually a whatever-I-can't-hear silence. During those silences, people who knew about his hearing loss didn't speak to him, not realizing that there was a 75% chance Clint would understand them by reading their lips. You didn't need to _hear _to know what people were saying, contrary to popular belief. Sure, it was easier, but-

"We'd never work, would we?"

Clint froze at the outburst. He looked up at Natasha, who was now sitting at the foot of his bed. "I don't know. Maybe? I've never really had a long relationship."

"Neither have I," Natasha admitted, and Clint knew. Clint knew Natasha's past and over the years he'd learned very carefully to avoid bringing up those memories at any time.

"We could…" he frowned, "try? See if it works?"

"Clint Barton, are you asking me to be your girlfriend?" Natasha asked incredulously.

"It's either that or longing sex!" he exclaimed nervously and snapped his mouth shut. Oh, God. Clint didn't just get nervous. Not around Natasha.

Natasha suddenly looked even more beautiful than before, if that was possible. He loved Natasha; he had for a long time. She was the one to stand by his side. She was the one to hand him his hearing aids, to fight battles with him, to wake him up and tell him it was okay when he had nightmares in the dead of night.

Hell, they might as well be already together. If you didn't add the no kissing and sex.

Despite Natasha being his best friend, it didn't seem weird thinking about kissing her or about…that other thing, either.

Natasha's face was impassive. It was hard to tell if she was thinking about this or otherwise. He couldn't wait until she snapped out of it anymore. He was done. And also, he had nothing to lose.

He leaned forward, placed one hand on her cheek, and her eyes lifted a little, looking at him dead in the eye.

They were both aching for it when their lips meet, and within moments they were pressing harder and Clint's arms went around Natasha, holding on to her like he had without touching her for years. Natasha kneaded sore muscles in his back, as her lips and tongue worked Clint's mouth. Clint's tongue traced lightly over lips before just reveling in the feeling of lips against lips and he didn't realize how it long it'd been since he'd kissed someone like this until now. She was gasping slightly when they broke apart, and Clint grinned, face feeling flushed.

"I think I can work with that."

This time, Natasha smiled.

* * *

Two weeks passed, and each day the team all helped in repairing the Tower. They were forced to spend nights at the helicarrier, but Tony promised that they'd be heading to his Malibu mansion soon. Clint actually looked forward to it.

They'd leave tomorrow, he announced.

Clint had discreetly slipped into Natasha's bed in her quarters that night. He'd been doing this a lot, but Natasha never complained. She just huddled close to him, and by morning they were intertwined limbs and flesh. SHIELD quarters could be loud, and he'd never understood how people could sleep with what he could hear with his HA's. His HA's were out now, and he stared at the ceiling in the darkness. He leaned his ear against Natasha's tank top-clad chest, right where her heart was, so he could feel and maybe hear the beats of her heart.

It was a lull to sleep he never thought he would want.

He hated waking up in the morning and not being able to hear her say "Good morning," or anything else she might say. He didn't tell her about it, of course, but she _knew. _As her good morning now, she gave him his hearing aids from the bedside table, and talked only when they were in place.

Clint couldn't hear. But he had everything he needed to be _happy. _Clint worked for SHIELD, and he was an Avenger. He was a superhero. He had friends that he never thought he'd have, and a girlfriend. Girlfriend, though, still felt alien to him.

He had Natasha. He had enough.

**A/N: I can't write physical romance that's honestly the best I can do. Hope you enjoyed and leave a review if you wish~**


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